


Mess is Mine

by chasingbluefish



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Growing old and sentimental, Illness [lycanthropy], M/M, Mentions of PTSD, Pets, Sappy, Sirius doesn't die AU, Why am I so fluffy?, grey hair, snapshot fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-07-24 21:54:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16183937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingbluefish/pseuds/chasingbluefish
Summary: Snapshots of Remus and Sirius and their life together post-second war. In which they have a cottage, pets, a garden, and deal with coming back together.





	Mess is Mine

It all happens in a split second. One minute, he’s shooting a hex at Malfoy and then a quick glance to his side shows Sirius frozen, a look of shock on his face as his body starts to arc backwards. 

 

Remus has no idea what the archway is. He had seen it upon entering the room. Carved stone and a tattered curtain. The feeling of it though...

 

Fear grips his heart and the intensity of the ‘ _ No, not again. I can’t do it again _ .’ has him reeling. Desperately trying to react and do something, anything, to prevent what’s about to happen because surely whatever lies beyond that fluttering veil is going to be the end. It isn’t something he knows for certain, it’s something he feels in his bones. 

 

A jet of red light flies from his left and hits Sirius hard in the shoulder, altering his path and sending him sprawling across the stones. 

 

Instantly, the vice loosens its hold on Remus’ chest and he throws his head sideways to find Kingsley giving him the slightest of nods and charging after his opponent. 

 

Across the way, Harry throws up a protego in front of his fallen godfather and Remus fights his way over, determined to keep them both safe. 

  
  


Later, when Sirius is pardoned, the war rages, and moments of peace are few and far between; Remus ponders how utterly broken he would have been had Sirius fallen through that wretched doorway. He silently pledges to do everything in his power to stop it from ever being a possibility again. And to find out what it is that Kingsley loves and to acquire a lifetime supply of it.

  
  
  


When the war ends, they buy a cottage just outside of Hogsmeade. The owner tries to give it to them as a thank you for their efforts but Remus and Sirius pay him anyways. They are far enough on the outskirts of the hamlet to leave them in peace and quiet but not far enough for Sirius to feel isolated. It's a tumbledown old thing, made of stones with a thatched roof, old beams inside, and well loved. Two bedrooms, a generous bath, and an open ground floor that contains a kitchen, living area, quasi study, and a half bath. Sirius was adamant that they have enough room for guests.

 

McGonagall offers Remus his old position as professor but Remus turns it down. The idea of staying in the castle, away from Sirius, is far on his list of wants but he compromises by becoming a full-time tutor for the returning students. After a few hours at Hogwarts or an impromptu study session at The Three Broomsticks, Sirius loves the glow of accomplishment that slowly returns to his lover’s face when he comes home. 

 

And they both savour that word.

 

Home.

 

Wolfsbane is supplied readily by Sirius, who is grateful when Remus doesn’t argue the cost. 

 

Slowly, they settle into a rhythm. 

 

Sirius tackles the overgrown patch of earth in the back and is gobsmacked to realise he likes gardening. Loves it even.

 

He starts with a few vegetables and herbs, tiny squares with labeled markers. He untangles the jungle of flowers and learns to compost, irrigate, prune, and weed. He starts a lively correspondence with Neville Longbottom. Gradually, other varieties of flora are planted, the assortment of vegetables expand, and Sirius erects a greenhouse and shed to cultivate potion ingredients. A veritable Eden begins to form. 

 

There isn’t any one element that he can say drives him more than another. The sun, the warm earth between his fingers, the scent of fresh dirt, leaves, and blooms. It’s a basic and primal thing. The garden doesn't require a balance of good versus evil, nor does it need him to make difficult decisions. He likes the toil and the focus it requires, no time for thoughts to wander or creep in, and each successful growth brings a joy to his heart that he hasn’t felt in a long time. He feels useful, proud.

 

At peace.

 

Sometimes, Remus finds Sirius sprawled in the grass, naked with eyes closed, as the sun touches every inch of his skin. There are no reprisals of sunburns or possibly being seen by neighbors. After thirteen years of the dark and cold, Remus hasn’t got it in him to take this away. Instead, he steps out of his shoes, sets his things on one of the garden benches, and lays down next to him. They don’t speak but Sirius twines his fingers with those of Remus and they simply exist, enjoying the novelty of it.

  
  
  


Wolfsbane makes the moons easier. Age does not. Sirius elects himself as monitor and carefully watches each cup of potion disappear in the days that lead up to the full. Remus bears it almost gracefully, only snapping sometimes when Sirius teases the face he makes at the awful taste. 

 

They spend the night curled together in their cellar, Padfoot and Moony. Sirius has dragged down a familiar rug, some creature comforts, and protected them with an anti-damp charm. As he dozes Moony can smell the pair of them in the worn fabric and it eases him through his dreams, head pillowed on a sleek black back. Padfoot always keeps watch.

 

In the morning Sirius wraps Remus in the softest robe he can find and helps him up the stairs and to bed. He sits while Remus sleeps, cataloguing all of the scars he hasn't been around for, noting how much more grey has crept into Remus’ hair and he worries. 

 

Later after a large breakfast (the transformation always leaves Remus starving, even through a roiling stomach), Sirius helps him limp outside and tucks Remus in on a lounger he’s acquired for this very purpose. Cushions and blankets are gently planted in and around, books left on his lap. They chat quietly as Sirius tends to his garden, the conversation lulling when Remus dozes off or starts reading. 

 

“The sun is good for you, helps create those things you went on about. Vitamins. I've been looking into it.” Sirius tells him, while repotting a tiny bunch of ferns. Remus refrains from reminding Sirius that he only mentioned them the once: when rebuilding Sirius’ health was on his mind. But he just smiles and gives a sleepy nod.

 

They spend whole afternoons like this, Sirius hovering just a little bit too much and Remus allowing it because he's too exhausted to do otherwise. Pain potions are dispensed and eventually they retire for supper and more recuperation. Usually a long soak in a hot bath. Sirius will read to Remus while he immerses himself in the steaming water. Sometimes it's The Quibbler, other times a favourite book they both love. Sirius digs up recipes or gardening tips to share and Remus will nod his head, offer an opinion here and there but mostly just savour the sound of Sirius’ voice. 

  
  


It isn’t always good. It takes time to relearn a person. Even if you thought you knew them better than you knew yourself, wars and years and trauma always change you. They have rows. The subjects vary from the serious to the way someone constantly clangs their spoon or puts the tea away in the wrong cupboard. Both are so used to being alone that it takes time to settle.

 

Sirius still feels uncomfortable in large crowds. Sudden explosions of noise can startle him just as much as being alone in the dead quiet. There’s always a candle or a lantern burning. Sometimes Remus casts a spell that leaves little fairy lights floating at the ceiling. The dark isn’t a thing Sirius can face unless it’s a sky full of stars. Open windows, open doors. There always needs to be an exit or a sight of the outside. He craves the company of people simply to remind himself that he is free, but after a long period of noise and interaction his nerves begin to fray. Remus notices these things and always steps in to divert the conversation or try and bring Sirius out of his shell. 

 

There are weeks on end, where Sirius will be fine. Then Remus will return from the school or a run into town to find him curled up in their bed or in a corner. Sometimes as Padfoot, sometimes as Sirius. There isn’t much to do but be there. He sinks down wherever Sirius is and holds him and talk. He talks about his day, about the students, speculation on the creature stealing their root vegetables. He’ll delve into happy memories, unsure if Sirius retains them or not. Sometimes Sirius will ask for them. They’ve been trickling back over the years. Sometimes Sirius will come into the room and tell Remus, almost as if he were asking a question. 

 

“James ate that entire pumpkin pie by himself and promptly vomited all over Evans’ jumper.” The unsaid ‘right? I think?’ hovers there and Remus always grins. 

 

“He did. She didn’t speak to him-”

 

“For a fortnight. That was right before I gave you that lovebite that McGonagall pointed out at your prefect meeting.” Sirius finishes gleefully, happy at every reclaimed part of himself, no matter how ridiculous the tale. It makes Remus beam. 

 

He rarely talks about Azkaban and Remus has learned that it is not a subject to ever ask about. If Sirius wants to recount his experiences there, he will broach the subject and Remus will listen no matter how much it hurts his heart to think of it. It’s a rare occurrence but it does happens. Sirius does it at his own pace. 

 

Remus remains angry with himself, his body, his ‘condition’. He still falls into bouts of self pity and Sirius gives him a cuff over the head; before reeling off a list of exactly what is fantastic about Remus John Lupin and if said Remus John Lupin wanted to sulk and focus on the one or two flaws that happened to lurk there, he could do it by his damned self. As always, Remus is quick to blame himself for a number of things that aren’t actually his fault. Sirius is softer about those times. He sees when Remus feels worthless, when he genuinely believes that he’s got nothing to offer. Kind words here and there, gestures he knows will brighten Remus’ mood. Memories he can recall of a particularly brilliant moment or a hilarious faux pas. When all else fails he asks for help. Says he needs to practice a spell he’s having trouble with or could Remus please come and give a hand rewiring something outside. Sirius keeps a list. Marks off ideas so that he has one ready at all times. 

 

“My doxycide is absolute shit. I know you’re pants at potions but you’re brilliant at any that involve creatures. Come on, Moony, please?”

 

Remus finds the list while tidying. A particularly fantastic laundry spell Molly had shared required the emptying of pockets. Instead of annoyance, he feels such a strong surge of affection that his eyes mist and he carefully tucks it back in and conveniently forgets to wash that particular robe. Sirius’ secret remains safe and he has no idea what he did to deserve the especially warm welcome he gets after returning from a visit with Harry. 

  
  


It turns out that the animal stealing their root vegetables is a kneazle. Neither wizard has any idea what the creature could want with a beetroot or potato given their natural diet but Sirius starts leaving out small scraps of meat when he senses her approach. 

 

She grows bolder, stealing into the garden while he works and he makes a show of not seeing her, letting her get used to his presence. Every now and then she’ll snatch some food straight from their hand before darting back into the underbrush. Remus spends hours on his chaise, watching the catlike creature, dangling his hand for her to sniff at, until one day he returns to find Sirius on the bench with her sitting next to him. He can't make out what his partner is muttering to the feline but she seems receptive if the nuzzling is an indication and within a week she has moved in. 

 

They argue over names. Family members are ruled out and Remus puts his foot down when Sirius suggests Clementine. She is definitely not a Clementine. She isn’t even orange. In fact, she’s a strange blend of black,grey, and brown. At one point, Sirius starts going through lists of names from songs he likes. 

 

“We could call her Lucy. She’s a hell of a trip…” He muses as she carefully seems to be sorting some garden pots by smell alone. He reaches and just barely catches a small terracotta jar from hitting the floor. Inside is a forgotten, rotten, bulb. “Nice find.” 

 

“Lucy…” Remus hums from where he leans against the counter. “It’s better than Edwina.” 

 

“I would never!”

 

“You liked the idea of calling her Ned for short.”

 

“Well...yes. But I like Lucy.”

 

“Lucy then.”

 

“Lucy.”

  
  
  


They rebuild their record collection and for Sirius’ birthday they get a record player. Hours are spent listening, singing, reminiscing. They dance. Sometimes with enough energy to make Lucy hide under the table and other times just holding each other, swaying. When they try and come up with a waltz to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ Lucy leaves completely, only coming back later when they’re both sitting on the floor laughing with tears in their eyes. Her expression seems to indicate that humans are generally mad. Sirius and Remus generally agree.

 

A stray dog of indiscernible breed joins the family (they go with Edward this time, Sirius finally gets his Ned), followed by another cat (Penny), this one of the un-kneazle variety. Lucy takes the additions well but it’s clear who the boss is. 

 

When Remus goes fully grey Sirius goes on and on about silver foxes and how distinguished it is; and if people had any idea what a silver wolf looked like, foxes would be a thing of the past. Remus swats at him with his newspaper but is secretly pleased. Even though there is yet to be a cure for his lycanthropy, work on the Wolfsbane Potion is continual and the transformations become easier. Hermione keeps them updated with any new information and Sirius invests a large sum of money into its development without telling Remus. 

 

Sirius finds a giddy amount of pleasure in coming up with the shopping list. There is always a minimum of two completely ridiculous requests with stories to back them up. 

 

“And we need eight pints of exploding ginger eyelashes for what reason?” Remus peers over Sirius’ list, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. Their silver frames glint in the sunlight and it’s all Sirius can do to keep himself from launching across the table. 

 

“They’re a very basic potion ingredient Moony. Can use them in anything.”

 

“Not eight pints worth.” Remus adjusts his glasses as though he knows exactly what wearing them does to the love of his life. In fact, Sirius is positive he sees a smirk.

 

“You have the wrong list. That’s my to do list. I’m inviting the whole Weasley clan over and topping up supplies. I’m going to charm them to explode and hand them off to all of Neville’s difficult students .”

 

“I was wondering why ‘Remus’ arse’ would be on the shopping list.” An amused gaze flits across the capitalised letters.

 

“That is very much a to do item. I underlined it twice, right there.” Sirius reaches to tap the parchment with a smile. 

 

Later they curl up on the sofa and come up with the list together and add grown up things like milk, tea, ink, parchment, toilet paper, various food items not even Sirius can produce with his green thumb, not limited to and including copious amounts of biscuits. Neither man can bake to save their lives. 

  
  


The entire Weasley clan does visit, as well as Harry and Hermione. No one asks why Sirius is walking about with a glass jar, peering at them all from time to time. 

 

Harry leans in to Remus with a worried expression. 

 

“Is he alright?”

 

“Never better.” Remus responds while across the room Sirius exclaims ‘You’ve got an eyelash there Molly, hold still...ah, got it. Make a wish.” He turns and winks, flicking it into his jar once Molly is no longer looking.

 

“You sure?”

 

“Positive. Don’t worry Harry. He’s having a ball.”

 

“...is he keeping that?”

 

“Best you don’t know the details but if you happen to see a loose eyelash on Ron or Ginny, feel free to let him know.”

 

“...”

 

They have dinner in the back garden at a make-shift assembly of tables and conjured fairy lights. Sirius cooks it all himself despite protests and multiple attempts to help. He allows Molly to bring bread and pudding. There is laughter, music, dancing. The dancing only begins once the wine has gone around a few times, of course, but when Sirius dips Remus dramatically everyone applauds. 

 

When people finally start to trickle home, Molly stops at the door and pats Sirius on the arm. 

 

“The food was lovely.” It’s an almost grudging compliment but entirely sincere.

 

“Thank you, Molly. Your pudding was divine.”

 

“I can’t help but feel there is about to be a rather lewd joke about my wife’s pudding.” Arthur is grinning, floo powder in hand.

 

“If there is, I don’t want to hear it.” Ron pipes up.

 

“I wouldn’t have seven children if my pudding wasn’t anything short of spectacular.”

 

“ _ Mum.” _

 

“Hush, Ronald. Where do you think you came from?”

  
  


One winter morning, Remus is woken by Sirius throwing himself hard across the foot of the bed. Hoping to get away with a bit more of a lie in he stays still, keeps breathing the same, but Sirius shifts and grumbles. He does everything a person can to wake someone just shy of actually calling their name. 

 

“It’s my day off, Pads.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Why are you skulking down there?”

 

“I’m not.”

 

“You’re doing that thing you do when you want attention.”

 

“...I’m going grey.”

 

“And?” Remus frowns at him across the duvet. 

 

“I can’t go grey.”

 

“Of course, you can. I went grey a decade ago. Some people start in their twenties. I saw a few white whiskers in Padfoot’s muzzle last week.” He has a sneaking suspicion he knows what exactly is bothering Sirius but keeps a placid expression. 

 

“You look good with your hair. It’s all…” Sirius waves a hand, gesturing vaguely in what Remus thinks means waves. “It’s all kinds of colours. Silver and iron and steel. Rain clouds.”

 

“And it will look gorgeous on you as well. Match your eyes.” Reluctantly Remus shifts into a half-sitting position, tucking an extra pillow behind his head as Sirius crawls up to him and flops onto his side. Remus takes a strand of ink black hair and twirls it around his finger, contemplating. Sirius’ hair is still roguishly long and annoyingly perfect. He pictures threads of grey dotting its landscape and finds he likes the idea. It means Sirius is alive. He’s aging. He’s here. 

 

“It won’t.”

 

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news but you’re fifty nine. It’s about time you got a few white strands. Actually, it adds to your charm. Knowing you, it’ll come in just a little. In a stripe or two, just enough to catch your eyes and make them glow. People will be falling all over themselves.”

 

“Hmph.” Sirius buries his face in Remus’ shoulder and then holds up a hand, fingers closed tightly in a fist. Remus can see the beginnings of a strand of white poking out just by his thumb. 

 

“Don’t suppose you can glue those back on.”

 

 

“Nope.” The words are muffled against the warmth of his skin and he finds his lips pulling into a fond smile. 

 

“Leave the next ones.”

 

“No.”

 

“Sirius.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I want you to.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because...you’ll look like a right devil. And because it means you’re here. You’re mine. You’re alive. You’re growing old with me, just like you promised.”

 

“...well, fuck. That’s playing dirty.”

 

“I’m not above such things.”

 

“No, I suppose you aren’t.” Sirius finally shows his face, inching up so that he can catch Remus in a kiss. All slow with softness and stubble. They lay like that, curled into each other for a long while before Remus speaks.

 

“Don’t suppose you know where my spare set of specs went?” 

 

“Fuck off, Moony.”


End file.
